Justice
by Magentian
Summary: One day, in a fit of philosophical caprice, Light asked L what he thought of Justice. [850word drabble. No slash.]


"Justice?" L replied, his wide, dark eyes fixated dreamily on a spot midway in the air over Light's shoulder.

"Yes," Light repeated. A note of impatience had crept into his somber, cold voice. "What is your opinion on justice, Ryuuzaki?" After all, of all of us, you seem the most likely to know –"

"To know what, Light-kun?" L asked, dropping his gaze as his bony fingers fiddled with his fork. "What can humans know of justice? What is justice?" he added contemplatively, cocking his dark head to the side. The broad pad of a thumb traced his lower lip in contemplation. His fork, clutched at the tip, burrowed into the pie before him as with a life of its own.

"But surely you must have some idea," Light snapped, feeling exasperated heat rise to his face. "You've devoted your life to pursuing justice."

"Of course I have an idea, Light-kun," L said quietly.

"And it is?"

"Justice is an illusion," L stated, lowering the fork with its impaled fruit to look his counterpart straight in the eyes.

Light stared for a moment, pale hands clasping the arms of the chair, mouth gaping wordlessly. "You can't believe that," he said finally.

"Justice is an illusion of the strong for the bafflement of the weak. It is the invention of the weak for the sake of their own protection against the strong," L mused, turning the fork in his fingers over and over. "People have said that God is the bringer of justice to all people, that all people receive their dues from him in accordance with what is just. But this is folly. Can any benevolent or omnipotent being lay claim to what is evil? Can a God so jealous and powerful as God truly have intended that humanity pay that much for straying from him?" L placed the fork on his plate deftly, so that it made no noise. He pulled at his lower lip, rolling it back and forth between thumb and forefinger. "The Greeks were correct in saying that injustice, and not justice, is the natural order of things; that things, when left to events beyond one's control, inevitably turn out worse regardless of merit or virtue. Injustice is the law. Justice is a mere human contrivance, a desire to instill into the world a sense of rightness and purpose. It may," he added, his fingers stilling their restless movement as he stared with moist eyes into the shadows of the room, "be better, all things considered, than seeing the truth."

The uncomfortable spell between them lasted a minute or more. Yagami's eyes narrowed; he crossed his arms, mind racing against the bleak backdrop of L's words, dissecting meaning and entendre, argument and counter-argument. L, for his part, remained quite still. At last, he shifted his legs beneath him and leaned forward to examine the pastry in front of him.

"But Ryuuzaki," Light said at last, "if you truly believe that injustice is so strong, and justice is so weak, why do you even bother? Why, when speaking of yourself, do you claim, 'I am justice'? Clearly, what you've said can only mean that justice is inferior –"

"Far from it," L replied abruptly, his mute stare resting on Light with a sense of keen awareness. "Those who come to that conclusion are, in the long run, utterly lost. Injustice is the law, yes, and justice is an impossible dream, a false ideal. But, Light-kun, do you not see that there can be no higher thing to strive for than to embody that ideal? To refuse to accept its alternative? To become Justice itself, to protect those who aren't aware they dream, as a sign of love for the world and respect for what people make of it, contrived though it is?" L's eyes seemed to shimmer in their sockets. "Justice is mankind's most cherished illusion, its deepest weakness and its most praiseworthy blessing." He picked up the fork and slid the fragment of pie into his mouth. Around crust and goo and fruit came the garbled murmur, "You worry me, Yagami-kun, by your slighting it."

Light sneered at the top of the man's head as he licked the tines clean, pink tongue darting out to catch the last bits of sweetness on his lips before withdrawing.

He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Ryuuzaki," he said. "I was merely trying to grasp your reasoning. I am always eager to see justice in action – you should have suspected that." Stopping himself short, Light bit his tongue, cursing himself. How could he have been so stupid as to even bring this up? His response fairly _screamed_ Kira.

L regarded him, head cocked to the side. If either of them had possessed a sense of humor, Light would have said he saw a twinkle of wry amusement in L's wary eyes.

"Indeed, Light-kun," L agreed, "I have had my suspicions."

He beckoned to Matsuda, indicating the pie. "Take this away," he said. "And tell Watari that I have little love for apples."

They never spoke on the subject again.


End file.
